


let me come home

by sonia (aquatulip)



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatulip/pseuds/sonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>all of the comatose kids have been buried for hours now, but the gaping hole in your chest is timeless.<br/>    “can i count your freckles?” he says, but he sounds exhausted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me come home

**Author's Note:**

> rarepair week day 4 loveee

[ i **scream** it to the n o t h i n g n e s s.  
there ain’t **nothing** that i _need_. ]

“how long did it take to dispose of the corpses?” togami asks.  
                                             “leave them,” kirigiri chides from her position opposite to him.

                        naegi wipes the tears from his eyes.

all of the comatose kids have been buried for hours now, but the gaping hole in your chest is timeless. you feel as though you are home to a graveyard of stardust that swirls around searching for an escape. this is where you hold the memories of peko that you wish to keep forever, but they fight against their constraint vigorously. they tell you to let go and move on. the words they whisper are in her tones and if you close your eyes, then you can pretend she’s still here at your side.

you keep yourself locked up in your room. someone keeps knocking on the door, but you don’t really care to answer it. it happens every couple of hours, but you cannot move from the bed that you are laying on. curled up so tightly in a ball, you wish to forget about the world around you and the living nightmare that plagues you. peko is dead; finality sits on your shoulders heavily.

knock  
knock  
KNOCK.

     “I don’t have the fuck-” your voice _b r e a k s_ into a million and one pieces, “-ing time for you.”

abrasive, that’s your tone, but still the handle on the door turns and hinata is there with his hand on the back of his neck. his cheeks are tear-stained, but you can barely see him from the position you’ve taken on the bed. your head aches, but you don’t sit up even when he closes the door behind him as he enters your room. you count the steps he takes (five) until he kneels at your bedside and his gentle gaze is piercing through you. if you retreat further into yourself, you can numb the rush of warmth he causes. “you missed dinner,” he says, but his voices sounds raw. his chin is resting on the mattress and you want him to leave and come closer at the same time. you feel too void of motivation to move in relation to him.

    “can i count your freckles?” he says, but he sounds exhausted.  
“why the fuck do you want to do that?” you answer, but you know that it is a distraction.

you say nothing when he climbs onto the bed and lays down next to you. he hovers close to you, but it doesn’t make you feel nervous. instead, you want to be angry that he has this ability to make you feel less lonely in this moment. it would be selfish of you to push him away, especially when he’s lost so many people. he had been so close to everyone and now most of them are buried six feet under. your golden hued eyes watch hinata carefully as he breathes out numbers that don’t matter to you (fifteen, sixteen, seventeen). he’ll never be able to count all your freckles, you know, but you don’t stop him. his presence is soothing and you can focus on his voice and how it breaks on twenty-one and the tears start rolling down his cheeks. he’s so broken from today and you don’t know what to do with your hands, but he’s reaching out to wipe away tears that you didn’t know you were shedding.

his touch against your skin is so gentle. he is treating you like something necessary and fragile.  
              “fuyuhiko,” he hiccups. “tell me this isn’t real.”  
                    you swallow, hard. “h-hin-- hajime,”  
                                                                                       “ _hajime_ ,” you repeat uselessly.

you finally move yourself in relation to him as he reaches for you; there is a need in the air that you greedily snatch up as you move into his embrace and bury your face into the crook of his shoulder as hot, angry tears pour down your face. this is all your fault, you think, you could have stopped koizumi’s murder. you could have done something, but instead you had held your breath and watched as peko killed her. now you want to go back to that moment and change your actions. you want to take the bat from her hands and tell her how much you appreciate her as your friend, but you know how that would have ended as well. you wonder if you had made the right decisions in the end, sure, you had been able to seek redemption, but now the others did not even have a chance. you feel like you should lay among them.

there is blood on your own hands, right?

    you want to scream until silence engulfs you.  
hinata is holding you so close and you want to stay close to him for as long as he will allow.  
                                    you’d never admit that though.

     

“hajime?” you ask between muffled sobs.  
    “don’t leave me, fuyuhiko,” he says pitifully.  
       your heart aches for this boy who is so, so broken after all these events.  
            “never,” you reply. it is a gruff promise.

 

“fuyuhiko?” he asks in broken tones.  
“you are all i have left,” you reply foolishly enough.     
he holds you tighter and you feel his lips brush over your temple.         
“i’m here, i’m here.” he reassures.               

neither of you wish to move. within this embrace, you feel safe. it is a feeling that peko had given you, one that your sister had been able to dig out, and now one that hinata covers you with. your whole life you have felt protected from all the ugly, but now you’ve been stripped away with no armor, but here is hinata with his gentle touch and desperate words.

you _love_ him.

it seems so obvious now. how anyone could not be taken in by hinata’s atmosphere is beyond your comprehension because he has pulled you in and your roots are now taking home within his ribcage. all of this seems surreal, now that your friends are buried and the world is falling down around you. despair once ran deep within your veins, but now hope has opened your eyes. if you could stay in this moment forever, you would.

    at this point, words are useless and will only dissolve into more tears.  
but you are curious about the answer to one question.

“hajime,”  
               you speak with restraint and in unsure tones.  
                                                                                      “can i k i s s you?”

he inhales sharply, moving to look at you; his olive eyes are gently searching your features to make sure that you are being serious about this. you incline your head to let him wipe away stray tears before leaning in. your noses are bumping and you don’t know why you want to kiss hinata hajime, but you know that you h a v e to kiss him _**right now**_.

    “you are sure?” he asks, voice soft.  
he sniffs.  
    “yes,” your voice is unsteady, but sure.

you move instead of him, and your lips are sliding against his once, then twice, and you just want to melt into the kiss because he is so soft. everything about your movements are gentle; there is no clash or battle or fireworks. this is how you always wanted it to be between the two of you, even though you never would tell him. both of your souls are exposed now though and you want him to take the pain away, however momentary of a fix his kisses are. you want to take away his pain. these kisses cut into you deeply and you cannot breathe; your head is spinning and your fingertips are numb, but you don’t want to let go of him now that you have him so close.

what if he ends up leaving just like all of the others?

    he kisses you until the sun sets and the tears that had been rolling down your cheeks have dried. you kiss him until your lungs ache and you feel as though you’ve stolen some of the sunlight in his smile and stored it deep beside the stardust in your chest. all of your kisses are so lackadaisical and sweet that you wonder what would be so terrible about staying like this for eternity. surely he has no complaints as his fingertips trail along the back of your neck. his lips leave yours to press against your cheeks and then your forehead and no one has ever looked at you how he is looking at you and you feel, for the first time in your life, _necessary_.

“we’ll get through this,” he whispers against your forehead.  
and you know, you know, you know.  


End file.
